The Secret to my Success

“What is success?”

I was at my weekly business group and it was time to answer the varied question that always closed the meeting. I knew exactly what I was going to say, but the exuberant Mary Kay woman bounced up before I could, and exclaimed, “I’ll go!”

So my answer began to morph the more I thought about it, which was just long enough to turn my train of thought into a total train-wreck.

What I said: “Success is many things – in business, it’s when a muscle releases (I’m a massage therapist), in friendship it’s about making time because everybody gets busy (I used air quotes on “busy”)…”

I might have strayed a bit, but was still somewhat on track until my voice began to waver with emotion as I added, “And I hate when people say that they don’t like hospitals or funerals, because guess what? Neither do I. But you go because you have to.”

I heard the incoherent words spew from my mouth as I gazed at my colleagues and saw their questioning stares, wondering how we had come to this point.

Success = hospitals and funerals?? What the hell was I talking about?!

What I should have said: "Success is about setting personal goals and making the effort to achieve them. Like last night, when my improv group, the Stage Monkeys, went and performed at the LA Improv Festival at the IO West.”

It was true. We had performed in Hollywood the night before (another check on the Bucket List), but the experience in its entirety ended up being one giant, cosmic game of improv. From a late night slot at 11:30pm on a Tuesday (meaning two of our six person group couldn’t make it) to a last minute absence by another member (leaving our director to perform with us), we just kept taking it as it came.

Going Green – I was nothing but green in the Green Room, not with envy (though I did covet a girl’s purse with two sunny side eggs and bacon making a happy face), but more because of my lack of experience while rubbing elbows with people I’d watched and admired at the IO West before – groups like DHT and Trophy Wife – it was pretty cool. My fellow female Monkey was also feeling green, but more because of the shot she received in her ass at the doctor’s office right before we left…like I said, our night turned to improv before we even hit the stage.

Lofty Ideals – We were performing upstairs in the Loft, where comfy couches housed an audience that was just about in our lap, so it made it all the more awkward if we messed up – the pressure! Trans Fat Orchestra went on before us, a co-ed foursome that really had their game tight. It was a little intimidating, but we didn’t have time to think about it because once the lights went down, we had to jump on stage.

Monkeys shines – What an adrenaline rush! A little crude at times, but we had consistent laughs. Because there were only four of us, I was thrown to the wolves and involved in most scenes, whether I liked it or not…and I liked it. I saw room for improvement and took personal notes on what I could have changed, but the fact was we had fun and the audience could sense that, which made them able to join in on the fun too. It’s like doing a wedding speech - people are there to have a good time, they want to laugh - you just have to give them an opportunity.

Paparazzi - As we were walking back to our car, a guy driving by stopped and called out, “What was that website again for you guys?“ We yelled back and my giddiness returned. I joked, “Can you believe the paparazzi are already stalking us?”

“If only it had been one block down,” my director nodded, “we would have been on Hollywood and Vine. Nobody gets famous at the corner of Hollywood and Ivar.”

Famous or not, the night was a success.

What is success?

Choking to Death

“Does anyone know the Heimlich maneuver?! There’s a woman choking...up there on stage!”

I stood gasping for breath, but food wasn’t the obstruction blocking my throat. It was the blinding blankness of my mind as I choked on silent words.

I had come out so strong. My first two jokes were like well-trained bullets hitting their targets, my hands twirling pistols, free of their double-holster. But then as I went to my next transition…nothingness. Everything I had ever known was gone. My mind kept reeling, “Think of something,” but all that my brain could come up with was, “words.”

Shit.

It was semi-finals of San Diego’s Funniest Person Contest at The Comedy Palace and I was blowing it. I had already made it past two rounds and knew my routine as well as my last name, but that didn’t matter in the depths of my hack attack.

The hack attack = a comedian’s kryptonite; a condtion resulting in the ridiculous, the stupid, the boring, the corny...

Was that me? I had been on such a high. My prior “comedy career” had been a handful of open mic nights that I had successfully completed to my standards (ie writing, memorizing and performing a routine.) But now the stakes were higher. I had entered the contest to get myself back on stage after almost a year hiatus and maybe I was in over my head. But it didn’t seem that way when I knocked out the first two rounds with my new material.

And the material was me. It was a true representation of who I was and that’s what made it easy to tell, but since I couldn’t even remember my own name, that didn't help me now. I stood there asking the crowd to give me, “Just a minute,” and stared at a stranger in the front row, hoping somehow she would feed me my lines.

I tormented myself as to why:

Why didn’t I go into the bathroom beforehand and practice like I always did?
Why didn’t I do more open mic nights for extra practice?
Why didn’t I pull out the piece of paper in my back pocket that had all my prompts on it??!!!

And that’s when it hit me: this was the first, and most crucial, lesson of my comedy education.

1) There is no such thing as too much practice. I had to get out there every chance I could. Practice. Practice. Practice.

I felt disappointed, but wasn’t soured by my downfall. I realized that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. So when comedy hands you limes, you turn them into limelight.